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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29469990">Love Revealed</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/jdrush/pseuds/jdrush'>jdrush</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Dark Love [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Sherlock (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Dark Sexual Fantasy, Fisting, M/M, True Love</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 21:21:13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>944</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29469990</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/jdrush/pseuds/jdrush</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s only a fantasy, John.  Third story in the "Dark Love" trilogy.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Sherlock Holmes/John Watson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Dark Love [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2164614</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Love Revealed</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>DISCLAIMER: Characters belong to BBC1, Moffat and Gatiss, and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle<br/>AUTHOR'S NOTES: I'm currently uploading some of my old stories to AO3. This one was originally posted to my livejournal March 6, 2011.The third story of a trilogy I never intended to write.  Another glimpse into a darker side of John and Sherlock‘s relationship.  I debated about posting this series, as I’ve never written anything this dark before.  Also, I have no knowledge of this activity beyond what I’ve read in “The Joy of Gay Sex“, and the occasional fanfic.  Any inaccuracies are completely my fault. Please pay attention to the tags. Trigger warning: fisting.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“C’mon, John. You must have one.”</p>
<p>“I’d rather not talk about it.”</p>
<p>“You never want to talk about it.”</p>
<p>“Some things should just remain unspoken.”</p>
<p>“You’ve always gone along with mine.  Even the more outrageous ones.”  A finger reached over and traced the brand John had burned into his chest, a mark he wore with dignity and pride.  </p>
<p>John watched the finger hungrily, itching to reach out and trace it himself.  “That’s because I’ve wanted them, too.”</p>
<p>“And how do you know I won’t agree to yours?”</p>
<p>“It’s. . .unsettling.”</p>
<p>“It’s only a fantasy, John.  How bad can it be?”</p>
<p>“Sherlock. . .I can’t.”</p>
<p>“Why not?  Think I’ll laugh at you?  Think I’ll refuse you?”</p>
<p>“No.  I’m afraid you won’t.”</p>
<p>“John, just tell me.  Maybe we can do something about it.  Make it come true.”</p>
<p>It grew silent as Sherlock waited expectantly to hear John share his deepest desire.  “Your hands . . .” John finally whispered.</p>
<p>“What about my hands?”</p>
<p>“They’re so. . .slim.  And long.  Elegant.”  A shaky sigh.  “Powerful.”</p>
<p>Not much surprised Sherlock Holmes, but John had just managed to do so.  “You want my hand.”</p>
<p>A small, “Yes.”</p>
<p>“My fist,” Sherlock clarified.</p>
<p>John flushed and looked away, unable to meet Sherlock‘s intense gaze, his shuddering, “Oh, God, yes,” barely audible.</p>
<p>“Have you ever. . .?”  A shake of the head.  “I’d be the first.”  A nod.  “The only.”  Another short nod.  </p>
<p>A nervous tongue ran along dried lips.  “Can’t believe I just admitted that,” John mumbled, embarrassed and ashamed of his darkest wish.  “It’s so. . .wrong.”</p>
<p>“It’s not wrong, John,” Sherlock assured him, “if it’s done safely.  How long have you had this fantasy?”</p>
<p>The blush grew darker, if that was possible.  “Too long.”</p>
<p>“And yet you never acted on it.”</p>
<p>“I couldn’t trust anyone enough.”</p>
<p>“You trust me.”</p>
<p>“With my life.”  It was a cliché.  It was the truth.</p>
<p>“I can do this for you, John.”  One of those slim, long, elegant, power hands grasped John’s chin and held him still.  “I want to give this to you.”</p>
<p>The need and gratitude in John’s eyes ripped through Sherlock’s heart.  “Please.”</p>
<p>* * * * * *</p>
<p>“Please. . .”</p>
<p>It’s taken many weeks to get to this point--weeks of research, of talking, of preparation.  Physical.  Mental.  Stretching both body and mind, both needing to be ready for this momentous night.  </p>
<p>John kneels before Sherlock on the bed.  Waiting.  Anticipating.  Aching.  Yearning.  All night, Sherlock has played, teased, stretched, primed.  Pushed John beyond his known limits of tolerance and pleasure.  And now the time has arrived.  He is ready.  They both are.  </p>
<p>Curling his fingers around his thumb, Sherlock places his hand to John’s body, and gently pushes, no excessive force, just enough pressure, an easy wet-push-slide until he is in, John‘s muscles tightly gripping his delicate wrist.</p>
<p>He gazes down in wonder at the man spread out before him.  So loyal.  So devoted.  So trusting.  He questions if he deserves this, someone this good, this pure.  This man. . .this extraordinary man. . .who gives his love so totally, so unconditionally.  </p>
<p>Sherlock wants to give all that back to John, just for one night.  To let him know how special he is.  Know how lost Sherlock would be without him.  For one night, be the man that John Watson is. </p>
<p>He moves his hand minutely, hears John’s pleasured groan.  Moves it again, just to hear that additive sound once more.  Shocked to see John spread his legs further apart, encouraging, beckoning.  “More. . .” a low, broken keening.  Desperate.  Needy.  A deep breath as he pushes in a bit further, past his wrist.</p>
<p>Sherlock takes it all in, knowing this experiment might never be repeated.  Knows he should be distancing himself from it all--analyzing, observing, collecting data--but he finds it impossible to concentrate on anything but John unraveling beneath his hands and before his eyes.</p>
<p>It’s breathtaking.  It’s overwhelming.  It’s exquisite.</p>
<p>Ripping apart every trust issue this man ever had, breaking John down and mending him.  Despoiling this most unassailable of men.  Watching his lover shatter beneath him with want and need and desire.  It is almost too much for Sherlock.  Beyond sex.  Beyond love.  He has never felt this connection to anyone before, knows he will never feel it with anyone else.  He could never be closer to John than he is at that moment.  He wants nothing more than to push even deeper, his arm, his whole body.  He wants to crawl inside John, be with him forever, never to be parted.  </p>
<p>He rocks his hand back and forth, losing himself in the sounds of John coming undone.  Kisses the base of John’s sweaty back, laps at the tangy dampness.  “Touch yourself,” he purrs, seductively.  </p>
<p>“Can’t,” John laments.  “Can’t. . .oh, God. . .it‘s too much. . .so. . .good. . .”</p>
<p>Sherlock reaches his free hand between John’s legs, feeling the heavy weight of his lover’s arousal.  John has been hard for hours.  It would be cruel to make him wait longer.  He grasps John’s cock and slides along the rigid shaft, thrilling to John’s cries of passion.  A flex of one hand, a twist of another, and John is flying, unraveling, coming, sobbing. </p>
<p>The barest of touches from his come-slicked hand, and Sherlock is soon joining his lover.</p>
<p>Disentangling takes some time and care.  Sherlock is patient and gentle.  John is patient and exhausted.  Clean-up takes a bit longer.  Sherlock retires to the loo and washes up thoroughly before returning to the bedroom, cleaning cloth in hand.  </p>
<p>John is nearly asleep, lying upon the bed--wrecked, debauched, and more beautiful than Sherlock believed possible.  He flashes Sherlock a dreamy, sated smile.  “Thank you,” he sighs.</p>
<p>And in that moment, Sherlock knows the face of true love.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>THE END</p>
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